


Not Like That At All

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [216]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Office, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Steve Rogers, Condoms, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Enthusiastic Consent, Feelings, M/M, Penetrative Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-04 04:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: One last gig. That’s what Steve tells himself this'll be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Finally landed an interview for a job relevant to my diploma and when I walk in to meet you I almost cry because I literally JUST hooked up with you LAST NIGHT. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

_One last gig_. That’s what Steve tells himself this'll be. One last night spent in the company of strangers and then tomorrow and tomorrow, he’s going straight. Well, legit anyway.

It’s not like the agency hasn’t treated him right. His rate’s one of the highest on the site and so's his take home cut: thank you, undergrad business degree. His negotiation skills have helped on the clock, too; he makes his boundaries clear and what he likes even clearer and clients, he’s found, really like that. Even the ones not into power play in one form or another seem to appreciate understanding the limits of their session, no matter its length. Those five minutes of chat at the outset laying out his yes/no/maybe and the principle of enthusiastic consent helps them get the most of their money. After two years in the business, then, he knows how to leave his clients both physically and fiscally satisfied.

But two years is enough, two years and he’s done, two years and the day after tomorrow he starts his first real job: a management consultant at Aventech. He’ll get actual paychecks every two weeks. He’ll have health insurance. He’ll sit at a desk every day and eat lunch in the breakroom or at one of the quick cafes that line the street and once he puts on clothes in the morning, he’ll get to keep them on all day long, miracle of miracles.

He wonders how weird that will be.

But tonight, he’s got one last appointment, a couple’s thing at the Omni downtown. Two men for once, which is nice. More up his alley. Not that he doesn’t enjoy women sometimes--there’s a brunette with an accent whose spankings he’ll serious miss--but day-to-day, it’s men who turn his head on the street, men whose kisses he craves, men who he imagines when he’s in the shower, one hand braced on the tile, the other curled around his dick. So two men tonight for his last fucking hurrah (ha) feels like a gift--and maybe it is. God knows the agency is sorry to see him go. Maybe the booker, Loki, was feeling generous. Maybe he’s gone out of his way to ensure that Steve goes out on a good note.

These are new clients, though. Steve doesn’t know much about them, only that they want him for a three-hour tour and are willing to pay and--Steve discovers as he steps off the elevator and squints down the big, quiet hall--are staying on a private floor of the Omni, one that holds only four lush, uber-pricey suites. Well. He feels a little buzz of excitement, that familiar he’s about to be onstage rush, maybe they tip as good as they get. Be nice to walk away from tonight and into tomorrow swinging a little extra cash.

He follows the signs to suite 3003 and smooths the front of his shirt. They’d asked for a button-down look, a starched collar and sharply creased pants. Not a problem. After tonight, he’d be wearing this kind of thing every day.

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, reaches for that escort zen within. Knocks three times on the door.

It opens almost immediately, framing an older guy with spiky dark hair, bare feet, and a carefully styled goatee. He’s wearing a black wifebeater with gorgeous charcoal trousers and beaming at Steve like he's the Second Coming. “Hi,” the guy says, "Are you Grant? God, please tell me you are. If you say you’re from room service or something, gah, don't tell me. You’ll break my fucking heart.”

Hearing his working name triggers something in his brain and his shoulders relax; his gaze settles smokey. “I’m Grant, yeah.”

The guy’s smile gets even bigger. “Thank fuck. Come on in.”

The suite’s gorgeous, pale and expensively bare. It spills towards a wall of picture windows in which the last of the sunset has faded, leaving only the lights of the skyline behind. It’s hard not to stare.

“Beautiful, right?” the guy says at his elbow. 

“Yes,” Steve says. “It is.”

“I suppose it’d be awfully cliche to say that I was talking about you.”

Steve’s mouth lifts. “Maybe a little. But it’s nice to hear, too.”

The guy touches his arm and turns him gently. “You,” the guy says with utmost sincerity, “are absolutely stunning. I’m so glad that you’re here.”

It’s such an odd thing to say, so absent of a leer or of guile, that it seems out of place, incongruous; a line from a script that’s not the one they’re performing. Usually, the first thing that clients say to him falls on the scale of vaguely dirty to cheap porno and this feels...not like that at all.

“I’m Anthony, by the way.”

“Hi.”

A small happy smile. “Hi.”

“Where is your, ah--aren’t there two of you?”

“There are two of us, yes. Bucky’s in the bedroom. I wanted to check you out first.”

Steve curves his hands over Anthony’s hips, smiles when the touch makes the man hum. “Fair enough. Have I passed inspection?”

“Not yet.” Long, warm fingers cup his neck. “You need to show me something.”

“What’s that?”

Anthony lifts his face, pulls Steve down to meet him. “How good you can kiss.”

His mouth is hot and already open and all Steve has to do is follow his lead and when their tongues touch--tentative at first, then eagerly--his client makes the sexiest little sound, a groan tied up in a sigh, and then Steve’s cupping his face, holding Anthony in place so he can find a way to hear it again.

“Oh god,” Anthony murmurs. His hands slip to Steve’s tie, tangle. “You are good at that, aren’t you?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know--maybe? Don’t have a lot of data to compare it to.”

“You haven’t kissed a lot of people?” He nips at Anthony’s lip. “That’s difficult for me to believe. Impossible, actually.”

Anthony chuckles. “You’re the first escort I’ve ever kissed. That’s what I meant.”

“I am? Well. Then I’m carrying the flag for all of us, aren’t I?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“So,” Steve says, softer now, his thumb trailing Anthony’s jaw. “You’d better let me do it again.”

“Mmm, yes. But not here. Come on. Let’s show Bucky.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve isn’t sure what he expected a man named Bucky would look like, but it’s not the smoldering dark-haired guy with bedroom eyes who’s lounging on the end of the bed when Tony opens the door.

“Jesus,” Bucky says. He doesn’t bother getting to his feet. “Looky what the catbird dragged in.”

Tony’s doing that bobbing at his elbow thing again. “Buck,” he says grandly with a gesture to match, “this is Grant. Grant, this is Bucky.”

“Hi.”

“Hey.” A grin that’s as welcoming as it is wicked. “Aren’t you fucking gorgeous? And I guess you passed Tony’s test, huh? Two of two.”

“His--?” The back of Steve’s neck flushes, a heat that peels into his cheeks. “Oh, yes. I guess.”

When Bucky stands up, it’s with a leonine grace, a kind of casual power, that’s startling. He doesn’t look much older than Steve but there’s something in his face, in the way he carries his body, that says the life he’s lived has been very, very different than the path that’s brought Steve here. On his bare arms and his chest, there are half a dozen tats--and clearly not the got-drunk-in-college kind. It’s all dark ink and shadows and there’s something rough and ready about them; he’d bet money the guy’s ex-military. Or hell, maybe current military. Who knows? Whereas even in his wifebeater and bare feet, Tony screams corporate, Bucky’s whole body shouts weapon; what's that they always say? Steve thinks as Bucky stops right in front of him: opposites, they attract.

“I can’t believe that Tony let you walk in here like this.”

“Like what?”

Bucky raises his hands slowly, like he’s giving Steve a chance to pull away; when he doesn’t, Bucky’s palms find the crisp lines of his shirtfront and smooth. “Like this. Still with your clothes on. It’s a travesty.”

“You’d have him unwrapped already, Buck? Pfft. You were the kid who tore open all his gifts at Christmas, weren’t you?”

“Still am,” Bucky says, pressing gently at Steve’s ribs. “As you know goddamn well.”

Steve’s vaguely aware of Tony moving towards the bed, grinning, of the energy of the evening shifting: the mantle has been handed off, it would seem. Bucky looks up at him--he’s maybe a half-a-head shorter--and the glee in his face, the naked fucking want, makes Steve’s knees feel like jelly.  
  
“You know, it’s a real good thing we agreed that Tony would be the one to greet you.”

Steve’s fingers find Bucky’s hips. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

A low, hungry hum. “Because, beautiful, I have a feeling that the first time I kiss you, I won’t be inclined to stop. And if I’d kissed you out there with you looking like this, well, let’s just say Tony would’ve had to come find the party.”

“Stop being a tease, Barnes, and kiss him already.”

“Yes,” Steve says, a little breathless. It’s not hard to fake; he’s already wound up kind of tight. “Please.”

Bucky chuckles. “Oh, you picked a peach, didn’t you, baby? Look how pretty he is when he says please.”

Sleeping with one person you’ve just met is tricky enough; even with Steve’s usual pre-coital interview, it’s hard to know precisely what a client really wants. Fantasies are funny things, solid in the imagination but gossamer in practice; Steve can count on one hand the clients he’s had--especially the first timers--whose articulation of what they want to get them off matches one-to-one with what actually makes them come long and hard. It’s a negotiation, always, and a big part of his job is reading what people aren’t saying or what their bodies can say that they can’t.

With two clients in the mix, though, it gets even tricker, because so often there are egos involved: one partner afraid of offending the other, another intimidated by the whole thing, the both of them fumbling along a bit until Steve has learned enough about them to know how to guide.

But tonight doesn’t feel like that. There’s no uncertainty in the room, no hesitation. He’s never been with a couple who seem to be as comfortable with the situation as Tony and Bucky do. It’s making his hair stand on end, the way that they’re looking at him, the way that Bucky’s touching him, and he can’t remember the last time he got stiff in a session before anybody put a hand on his cock.

God, a half an hour in and he already owes Loki a thank you note.

“Do you like it when I do that?” he asks.

“When you say please, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I very much appreciate it,” Bucky says. “And Tony does, too.” His thumbs slip under the tails of Steve’s shirt--when had he tugged them free?--and turn circles on Steve’s stomach just above the line of his waist. “We like knowing what you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.” Bucky turns his head, nuzzles the curve of Steve’s throat. “That’s the whole point of the evening, after all.”

A hot, soft sound winds out of his mouth; another when he feels Bucky’s tongue. “I don’t understand.”

“Bucky,” Tony says. A clear warning. “Stop yammering and give the boy what he asked for.”

Steve can feel Bucky smile. “You think I should?” Now both hands are under Steve’s shirt, stroking his stomach, teasing the swell of his ribs. “You really think I should do that?”

“Please,” Steve says. There’s no thought; only response. His skin feels like it’s on fire, burning with each greedy touch. “Bucky, Bucky, I need--”

Then Bucky has a fist in his hair and their mouths are shoved together, messy and eager and hot, and Steve feels like he’s falling, like the air around them is spinning, like the floor’s a cracked plate and he’s about to tumble right through the gaps.

“Oh, shit,” he can hear Tony say, somewhere. “Look at you two. So fucking hot.”

Bucky is pulling at his shirt and Bucky is making buttons fly and Bucky is groaning like it hurts every time their mouths part, every time they have to come up for air.

“So you should know something,” he gets out, his hands on Steve’s belt buckle.

“What’s that?”

A smirk. “The order of operations for the evening. We should’ve told you before. But maybe, by now, you can guess.”

“What--?” His brain is on standby, the rest of his body too busy to care. “Don’t know, I don’t--”

Then suddenly there’s a warm brace at his back, another pitch of breath in his ear.

“What Bucky’s trying to say,” Tony murmurs, “is that we want to please you. That’s the whole point of tonight. Whatever you want, we’ll try to give it to you. All you have to do, lovely Grant, is ask.”  
  
“You’re not”--Bucky kisses him again, a spear of tongue that makes him moan. He tries again. “Not how it works, Tony. I’m here for you.”

He feels Tony’s mouth on his shoulder, feels the sharp squeeze of teeth. “Yes, I know. And what you can do for us, my darling boy, is to let us take care of you.”

His head is cotton candy, a sticky cloud of confusion. He’s so hard he can’t see straight. “You--? No, you don’t have to do that.”

Bucky growls and tears open his trousers. “We want to. What part of that don’t you understand?”

Then they’re touching his cock, teasing it, rubbing it through the angry stretch of his boxer briefs, and they’re both kissing him, too, Bucky’s mouth rough on his and Tony’s fierce on his neck, and ok, goddamn it, if this is his last night, then what the fuck? What does he have to lose? If these two wanna waste their money making him come then so fucking be it.

“Fine,” he spits out, his voice stretched high in a whine. “You want to make me happy? Then both of you suck my cock.”

“Oh,” Bucky hums over Tony’s hungry groan, “I knew I liked you.”


	3. Chapter 3

The bed they pull him down on is soft, soft and silk like Bucky’s tongue, like Tony’s, as they strip him bare and map his body with their mouths. Bucky’s teeth scrape his shoulder and Tony nuzzles his ribs and Steve reaches for both of them, runs his greedy fingers over whatever part of them he can touch.

“Oh god yes,” Bucky mutters against his chest as Steve’s hand finds his hair. “Go ahead, honey. Pull it."

He does and Bucky’s hips kick and he makes the most beautiful sound; wounded, almost, the sleek confidence on his face deigning to shudder.

“Remember that,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s hip, his dark eyes beaming up bright, “and do it again when he’s inside you.”

Bucky laughs. It come out like a gasp. “Don’t listen to him, Grant.”

“Especially if he’s not fucking you hard enough, if he’s playing at some bullshit hold back. That’ll make him forget his manners real quick.”

“Yeah?” Steve says. He pulls again, a little vicious this time. “It’s made him forget to suck my cock soon enough.”

A growl. “Would have you down my throat already if you two would quit talking about me like I wasn’t here.”

He twists out of Steve’s grip and slides down Steve’s body, stretches out parallel to Tony, who leans over to feed him a deep, hungry kiss. Steve is stupid hard already, but watching them kiss, seeing the way they sink into each other, the way their need is tempered with a real tenderness, makes him twitch, makes the tip of his cock come up wet.

“Please,” he hears himself say, like in a dream somewhere. He has a hand on himself now. When did that happen? “Oh fuck, you all. Please.”

That gets him two sets of eyes, two equally sneaky grins, and then they’re moving, drifting apart and spreading his legs, dragging their nails up the insides of his thighs and watching him, intent on him, lighting him up with their eyes.

“Bucky’s gonna kiss your balls,” Tony says, “and if you’re very good, he might play with your hole. Would you like that, baby?”

HIs back arches, the word punched out. “Yes.”

“And Tony’s gonna lick at this pretty dick.” Bucky’s voice is all rumble. “And if you’re very good, he might suck you. Would you like that, too?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Yes.”

Bucky kisses his knee. Tony bites at the top of his thigh. “Good boy,” they tell him, just out of sync. “What a good boy you are, huh?”

Tony curls up and drapes himself around Steve’s hip, over it, his dark head profile. Bucky pushes his knees up and bares him and disappears, that dark head bobbing greedily out of sight. Their tongues find him at the same time. Something in the world flies apart.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, way too loudly, a thunderclap in each ear. “Oh, god. Oh god. _Fuck_.”

Tony’s lapping at the head and Bucky’s mouthing at the base, lapping at the tight swell of his balls, and he feels like a teenager, some goddamn skinny virgin, whose needy dick is being touched for the first time. Some part of his brain is desperately trying to figure out if he’s ever had this before or not, if any of the couples he’s fucked have done this for him, and the answer is no, he knows that it’s no, knows that in two years of this gig, this very odd kind of job, nobody’s ever asked him that question before: _what would you like_?

“God, you’re a leaker, aren’t you?” Tony sounds inordinately pleased. “Look at this mess you’re making, baby.”

“You should see this,” Bucky says, muffled. “His balls are already drawn up so pretty.” A swipe of tongue, a soft, hungry kiss. “He’s gone come like a fucking geyser, aren’t you? And Tony hasn’t even sucked you properly yet.”

Steve’s throat is a desert, his hands fluttering, flailing. There’s a heat at the base of his spine and it’s too much. It’s too soon. He can’t. “Shut up,” he says, desperate. “Shut _up_. Please, god, suck my cock.”

Tony spreads a hand over his stomach. Steve can feel him smile, the curve of his lips on heated flesh. “Mmmm, thank you, gorgeous. I’d love to.”

There’s a flash of foil, the sound of a tear, and then there’s latex on him, a sudden shot of thin cool, and it helps, it does; helps him feel like he’s not 10 seconds from coming, helps him feel more in control, but there’s part of him that’s disappointed, too, disappointed that he won’t feel the tip of Tony’s tongue pressing into his slit, won’t feel the full fever heat of Tony’s mouth as it closes down the length of his shaft, won’t get to pour into Tony’s throat and watch him come up for air, the last of Steve’s come on his lips, but this is good, too, this thin barrier between them. It’s a reminder of who they are, what this is--a job--even though with the two of them working him, focused in firm on his pleasure, they’ve made that too easy for him to forget.

If he closes his eyes now, closes his eyes and lets his head find the pillow, he can close his eyes and pretend that this isn’t the first time, that these men have taken him to bed a lot; that this kind of sex is more like lovemaking, the spontaneous result of an evening at home instead of scheduled, paid hours in some big fancy hotel. He's always had a bent towards the romantic, the red roses and Hallmark devotion kind, but that's not usually where his head goes in the middle of a job, when he's in bed with someone he's only just met. What the fuck is wrong with him? he wonders vaguely, lifting his hips to get more of Tony's tongue. He's in a weird headspace tonight. Or maybe--god, maybe Loki's right: he's just a big goddamn sap.

Bucky has his balls in his mouth now, sucking gently at them, his fingers digging into Steve’s thighs, holding him open, leaving that whole part of him exposed to Bucky’s eyes, to the air. He can feel himself clenching; can feel how greedy is body is for something inside, something to hold him down, fill him up, and he’s ready for it, he knows it, he took the time to make sure.

“Fuck me,” he says to the ceiling, to the high, intricate chandelier there. “Your fingers, Bucky, can I--?”

Tony moans, a sound that makes him swell, and Bucky goes right for what he’s asked. Rubs at him a little, hot and perfect, then stops. _Stops_. 

“He’s wet,” Bucky says softly. “Grant, honey, did you come ready for us?”

He doesn’t wait for Steve to answer, just presses in, his finger long and firm and good. It feels so fucking good. Steve lets out a wail.

“You did, didn’t you?” Bucky nips at the inside of his thigh. “You came here ready for us to fuck.”

His cock trembles, jerks frantic inside of Tony’s mouth, and Tony slaps a hand on his hip, holds him down, holds him firm. Doesn’t let up.

Bucky says: “I bet you want to come stuffed, don’t you? You’re the kind of boy who likes to come when he’s getting fucked.”

“Oh, god.” It's not a denial.

Bucky tugs at his rim, shoves another big finger in. “You do, don’t you?”

A sound slips out. Not a word, but a whine. There’s a echo of it deep in Tony’s throat.

“Well, tough. You’re gonna come like this first.” Bucky licks at his balls again. “You asked for this, didn’t you? Both of our mouths on your big, pretty dick.”

Ah, fuck, he’s close. “Bucky--!”

A shot of hot breath. “Yeah, you did. So you’re gonna get it.”

“Tony,” Steve sobs, his nails slipping over a slick shoulder, digging in when he feels Tony moan. “Tony, Tony, shit, I can’t--”

Bucky twists his fingers and lifts his head, laps at the place where the condom stops, at that last inch of stiff, paper thin skin. Murmurs: “You’re gonna come like this, Grant, and then we’re gonna get Tony inside you. Right here. He’s going to have his cock shoved in like this. And when he’s done, I’m gonna turn you over and fuck you myself and you’re going to come for me like that, all over this nice bed, until these big balls are empty, and then maybe, if you’ve been a good boy, Tony will let you suck him while I fuck your tight little ass full. Would you like that?”

He comes so hard there aren’t words, there’s no body, there’s only the heat of Tony’s mouth and the sloe gin of Bucky’s voice and he’s spurting, pouring himself out into the condom as pleasure rakes its heels up his spine and it feels like the room is shaking, like the dark behind his eyes is splintering, quaking, a thousand colors in his mouth, in the foolish landscape of his heart, and he has to bite his lip not to give them a name.

“Christ,” he hears Bucky say, somewhere. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Mmmm,” Tony says. He sits up and tugs off the condom, pets Steve’s dick through the last few needy jerks. He sounds goddamn delighted. “He’s glorious, isn’t he?”

“God, yes.”

Steve’s eyes are hazy. His whole body feels like a cloud.

“Good,” Tony says. He stretches up to find Steve's mouth. Grins against his lips, runs a hand over his cheek. “Because it’s my turn now. And jesus, are you gonna be fun to fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I'm finding this one hard to let go of.


	4. Chapter 4

For all their talk, though, they’re gentle with him. They slide him back up the bed and nestle his head on the long, soft pillows; they tug the covers down and turn him into the sheets, beneath the blankets, kiss him until his breath is one long, eager sigh and then and only then does Tony slide away and stumble up and reach for the strained line of his fly.

“Look at him,” Bucky croons. “He wants it so bad he can barely get his dick out.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony says, wincing as he works down his zipper, “I think that qualifies as a good problem. Bordering real close to great. Ah, god. Fuck.”

His cock is fat and furiously red and the look on his face when he gets a hand on himself makes Steve’s insides clench.

“Tony,” he says, scratchy. “Come here. Let me.”

He rolls on his side and reaches, both arms open, stretched out, until Tony groans and knees back up onto the bed.

“Be careful,” Tony says as Steve traces his shaft. “You touch me too good, baby, and this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast.”

“He’s not lying.” Bucky chuckles. “He’s got a hair trigger, don’t you, old man?”

Tony’s hands find Steve’s hair. “Lies, Grant. All lies.”

“Oh yeah? Tell him about the time I made you come on a conference call.”

Steve laughs, catches the blurt of wet from Tony’s tip on his thumb. “You did not.”

“He did,” Tony says, the words more like a gasp. “Because he’s a bastard. But I hit the mute button first.”

The bed dips as Bucky shifts, kisses the space between Steve’s shoulder blades. “Yeah, sure. A good five seconds after. The shareholders thought he was having a stroke.”

“Which I totally was. Just not the kind that they thought.” Tony’s head falls back. There’s a flush on his chest a mile fucking wide. “Oh, jesus, Grant. Do that faster.”

“No,” Bucky says in his ear. “Don’t you dare. Tell him to get a condom.”

There’s a squeeze of heat in his cock, unmistakable. What the hell. Is he really halfway to hard again?

“Tony,” Steve manages. “Condom.”

There’s a scramble, a shove, a slap of foil, and Tony’s kneeling between Steve’s thighs, hard as hell and not moving anywhere, stuck.

“God, Buck,” he spits. “Hurry up.”

Bucky laughs and perches his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Ah, ah, don’t get too excited,” Bucky murmurs, giving Steve a big grin. “I’d hate for you to shoot off now, when you’re so fucking close. Look at him, hmm? Look how ready he is for you.”

Tony moans. Steve can see his balls jerk. “Shut up and put the condom on, Barnes.”

One of Bucky’s hands is tangled in latex, the other is clutching the base of Tony’s dick good and tight, and Steve is sincerely grateful they drained him first because this, the way that Bucky’s manhandling Tony, the way he’s teasing him while still giving him what he wants--it’s hot, yeah, but it also feels incredibly loving, an ease borne of each one’s knowledge of the other. For all it turns him on, watching these two beautiful men tangle in front of him, it also tugs at something deeper, something that makes his big, bleeding heart ache.

 _I'm jealous_ , he thinks as Bucky rolls the condom on, as Tony bites back a shout and claws at Bucky’s arm. _I’m jealous of them, aren’t I? Of my clients. Fuck. That’s a first._

He doesn’t realize he’s jerking himself off until Tony touches him, two lithe hands catching the insides of his thighs.

“Grant,” Tony says, broken. “God, can I please--?”

He groans and lifts up his hips. Doesn’t let go of his cock, of the knot of envy in his gut. “Come on, Tony. Fuck me.”

He hears Bucky swearing and Tony moaning but all that matters is that he’s full, stretched wide and so tight that he can hardly fucking breathe.

“What’d I tell you?” Bucky says. He strokes Steve’s knee, leans over to kiss Tony’s cheek. “Like a vise, isn’t he?”

Tony topples over, drives his arms like pillars next to Steve’s shoulders, and fucks in good and deep. “Sweetheart,” he mumbles against Steve’s mouth. “Jesus fuck.”

Then he’s getting it, hard and fast and perfect, and they’re pressed together so tight that Steve gives up on his dick and clutches at Tony’s ass instead. It’s loud and it’s ragged and there’s no finesse to it, nothing but need, a low, hungry snarl of sex, and Steve can’t get enough.

He can’t think like this, can’t let his mind wander; all he can do, pinned between Tony’s body and the bed, is take it, lie back and open wide and be at the mercy of how good it feels, how hot it makes him to be so fucking filled up.

“Come on, baby,” he hears Bucky growl, a thunderstorm somewhere above. “You can do better than that.”

He hears the slap the split second before he feels it, a sharp sting on Tony’s ass that catches the edge of his hand, that snaps through Tony’s body like a shock.

“That’s it, old man,” Bucky hisses. “Fuck the boy faster. Give him what he needs.”

Tony shouts, their ragged kiss going sideways. Steve can feel his arms trembling. “Ah, god, Grant. God, I can’t--I’m gonna come in you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s back arches and he throws his head to the side, gasping, grasping for words. “Bucky,” he manages, “fuck, Bucky, slap him again.”

Tony comes before Bucky’s hand leaves his ass and it’s like a tidal wave, a drumbeat that shoves Steve under, that shuts out everything except for the sweet pressure of Tony’s weight and the pulse of his cock and the bloom of heat that Steve can trace on his ass.

“That’s it,” he murmurs as Tony twitches in his arms. “Let me have all of it, old man.”

Tony groans like he’s dying and kick his hips in again. Rubs his mouth against the flush of Steve’s cheek. “Oh, god, baby. Baby, yes. Take it. You can have whatever you want.”

He comes down slowly, does Tony, like a man falling from a great goddamn height. “Your fault,” he grumbles when they tease him, when Bucky strokes his back and Steve pets at the sweat on his sides. “Both you fuckers. Had me wound so tight I couldn’t fucking see.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says. His voice sounds like a rainbow, stretched out and buoyant. “You loved every second.”

“Yeah, you did.” Steve nuzzles his chin. “I thought you were gonna pound me through the bed.”

A groan. “Oh god yes. Yes. Of course I did. Every millisecond, even. Fuck. You two make a hell of a team.”

“We do, don’t we?” Bucky tumbles on his side and tucks his head beside Steve’s. Leans in for a long, greedy kiss. Keeps his words aimed straight at Tony. “Be a lot easier to tell, though, if you’d quit hogging the kid.”

“Hogging? I’m not hogging. I’m just fucked out and boneless, that’s all. And as we’ve already established, that, my darling, is super your fault.”

Steve laughs and Bucky does, too, though his comes out more like a grumble. “God,” Bucky says. “Fine. Take your time. I’m sure that Grant’s not dying to come.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says, though his cock disagrees. “There’s no rush.”

Tony raises his head, gives Steve an eyebrow. “Oh, but there is, isn’t there? We don’t have you for the whole night, beautiful.”

And there it is. The crash back down to reality, the plunge from orbit right back to the earth.

“What time is it?” Steve says. He doesn’t want to know. He’s gotta ask.

Bucky rolls over, squints at the night stand. “Ten to midnight.”

“Oh.” Steve has to swallow his disappointment. He tries to keep it out of his voice. “You, ah. The booking’s only till 12. Three hours. That’s what you paid for.”

When Bucky turns back, his eyes are darker; his expression, too. “Is that so.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m guessing,” Tony says gently, “that the rules about that sort of thing are pretty strict. I’m thinking you don’t get overtime.”

He blushes. It’s ridiculous, but he does. “Um. No.”

“Do you have someplace else to be?”

“Buck! Jesus.”

“What?” Bucky’s face swivels from Tony to Steve and back. “I’m just asking.”

“Yeah, about something that’s none of your business.”

“I know that! He doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to.”

“No,” Steve says. “I don’t.”

“You don’t--which?” Tony asks.  
  
“I don’t have another appointment tonight. Actually, I don’t have another appointment, ever.”

“What?”

He turns to Bucky. “This is it for me. You guys are. This is my last gig as an escort. I got an office job and I’m starting on Monday.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s face falls even further. “So. This really is it. No chance of a repeat then, huh?”

No more appointments. The idea rings in Steve’s head. No more arguments with Loki over his workload. No more nights spent with people he’ll only fuck and never know. No more having to remember to call out the right name.

This is it. This really is it. After tonight, he’ll never see these men again, for money or otherwise; that’s just not how it works. Clients and escorts, they exist outside of real life, in a space where the only thing that matters is the kind of pleasure that can be stoked between bodies. There’s no room in a big, anonymous bed for anything resembling real life.

So Loki won’t yell at him if he stays a little longer. Hell, Loki will never know. All he’ll know is that Steve’s sending him two very satisfied clients who next time will be just as happy with whomever Loki sends through their door.

“Yeah,” he says into the silence, to these two gorgeous, giving men. “It really is. Which means that this is my choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it, escort!Steve, I can't quit you.


	5. Chapter 5

He reaches out with one hand and up with the other and cradles both of their heads, his fists knotted in short, dark spikes and long, damp curls. Revels in their sharp sounds of surprise.

“Inside me,” he says to Bucky. “Need your cock inside me, Bucky. Right now.”

“Yes,” Bucky says, the word like lava. “Whatever you want, honey. Yes.”

Steve lifts his hips and Tony gets the hint, eases out with a tug and a wince. But he’s grinning, beaming even, his eyes warm and wide. When they kiss, when Steve pulls and Bucky goes willing, he can hear Tony sigh, feel the drift of his lips over the inside of Steve’s thigh.

“You’re shaking,” Tony murmurs. “Buck, baby, he’s shaking he wants you so bad.”

Bucky groans and gathers Steve closer. Wraps an arm around his body and leans over him, smothers him, blocks out everything but the heat of his mouth, the fever, the sweet. Gone is the greediness of before, the push, the faint desire to dominate; now, Bucky seems content to be kissed, to let Steve lead the way.

There’s a dip in the bed, a shake, and then Tony’s under the covers beside him, settling down with a soft moan.

“Jesus, look at you.” Tony strokes Steve’s hip, reaches up to touch Bucky’s back. “You’re so fucking pretty together it hurts.”

Steve finds Bucky’s wrist and tucks it free from the sheets, tugs it down towards his dick; groans when Bucky touches him, when that rough hand closes around him.

“Like this?” Bucky asks.

Steve arches his back. “Faster. Mmmm, yes. Just like that.”

He’s past the point of coming, it feels like, so hard that it doesn’t seem real. Never mind that his ass aches, that his bones feel like stretched jelly; he needs Bucky to touch him, needs Bucky to want him, needs to know that he’s not doing this just because Steve asked.

“Do you want me?” he says into the valley between kisses.

“God, what--?” Bucky groans. “How can you even ask that?”

Steve yanks his head back, stares into those blue, blown-glass eyes. “Please. Need to hear you say it.”

The hand on his dick loosens, slows to a soft, teasing stroke. “I want you. I have since the second Tony quit being selfish and finally let me get a look at you.”

“You blame me?” Tony’s palm is on Steve’s chest, spread wide over his heart. “I think we’ve established you’d have kept him all to yourself.”

“Even if I’d just passed you on the street,” Bucky says, “or met you in some everyday way, I’d have wanted you. You’re so fucking lovely. I wonder if you know just how much.” He kisses the tip of Steve’s chin. “So call me a selfish bastard all you want, but I’m glad we met you this way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve been talking about doing something like this for ages.”

“Ages,” Tony echoes, pushing a smile against Steve’s bicep. “Like eons or something. Dinosaur time.”

“But you”--Bucky’s fingers slide from his cock and slip down between his legs, press gentle at the place he’s still open. “You’re so much more than we could’ve ever hoped for. Isn’t he, baby?”

Tony sighs in his ear. “God, yes. You have no idea.”

Steve’s face is hot, his whole body is. He’s embarrassed. He never wants them to stop.

“Basically,” Bucky says, “you’re a godsend, Grant. So maybe _want_ is the wrong word.” He shifts, tucks his tongue between Steve’s lips and rubs at the sore stretch of his ass. “I need you.”

“Steve.”

Bucky kisses him again, takes his breath away. “Hmm?”

“My name’s Steve. My real one.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and spreads his legs, shudders when the tips of Bucky’s fingers push in. “I’m off the clock now, damn it. Call me Steve. Please.”

Bucky grins and Steve can hear Tony chuckling, feel the warm wet of Tony’s mouth on the side of his face. “Oh, yes,” Bucky says, “yes. Is this better? Mmmm, tell me." His voice drops to a rough whisper. "I need you, Steve.”

Steve’s body jerks, his dick does, and a sound comes out of his mouth, a sound that makes the men beside him both groan.

“Please,” he says again, the night’s chorus. “Please, Bucky. Fuck me.”

Bucky's mouth curves. “Now how in the hell could anybody resist that?”

It takes lube to get him ready, to help him ease past the ache and back towards the promise of a stretch feeling good.

“There,” Tony says, one long finger easing in as Bucky strips, peels himself free of denim and cotton. “There you go. Nice and easy. Good boy.”

Then they’re both touching him, crouched between his thighs and murmuring against his skin.

“Like that,” Bucky murmurs. One finger, now two. “Oh, god, look at you.”

Tony's teeth catch, his tongue soothing it over. "Hold still, baby. You can take it."

When he’s had enough, when he’s afraid that he’ll come, he cries out and Bucky reaches for the condom with one hand, strokes Steve’s calf with the other.

“Ok,” Bucky says. “It’s ok, baby. I'm coming."

He’s bigger than Tony, longer, a little fatter, and it hurts, him pushing in. Steve can see the strain on his face, the willpower it’s taking for him not just to shove in, to take.

“Shit,” Tony says from the end of the bed. He’s perched there, watching, his eyes gorgeous and wide. “That’s it. Just a little more, Steve, and he’s all yours.”

Then it’s done and Bucky’s flush and they’re both panting now, Bucky holding his hips, spreading his thumbs over Steve’s skin, up and back.

“Can I?” he says, strained. “Steve, honey, I have to, I can’t--”

He reaches up and up, his arms quaking, and knots his fingers in that long, messy hair, pulls as hard as he fucking can.

“Fuck me,” he says as Bucky bellows, a shout that shakes the whole bed, and it’s just like Tony had said: Bucky’s pretty face all goes red and his hips give a furious shove and there’s no reason to talk after that, no room to; there’s only Bucky bent over him, Bucky pounding into him, Bucky making a fountain of sound. Steve gets a hand on himself and drops the other to Bucky’s shoulder, urges him up and in. He can hear Tony somewhere, can feel Bucky shudder when Tony touches him, runs his hands up Bucky’s back, but what Steve really knows is how good he feels, how his senses and his body and poor angry cock have been pushed so far past the boundaries of what he thought he was walking into tonight that it feels like he’s fallen into someone else’s life, that in the last few hours, in this brief perfect moment, they’re letting him in on something--letting him be part of something--big and beautiful and private that nobody else has ever seen.

When he comes, it’s with a scream that scrapes his throat hoarse, an electric pulse that makes his whole body sing.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky hisses, his hands slipping in the sheets, the speed of his hips kicking up. “Oh, christ, oh Steve, oh _shit_.”

There’s come everywhere, on his fist, on Bucky’s stomach, and he can’t breathe and he can’t stop laughing and Bucky’s filling him, filling the condom and grinning into his face and his cock jerks again, hopeful and stupid, one last blurt of heat, and then Bucky’s kissing him, one hand curled around the back of Steve’s neck.

“Baby,” Bucky says, slurry. “Baby. Oh, fuck.”

Then Tony’s there, on his knees beside them and kissing them both, deep and eager, and everything is watercolors, each minute, each movement, melting into the next, and somehow his eyes are closed. His eyes are closed and he can feel the soft cords of sleep. He can’t sleep. This isn’t his bed. He feels a flurry of panic, tries to sit up. God, he’s on a job, he can’t--

“Shhh,” somebody murmurs, they both do, their voices drifting in behind his eyelids, their hands moving gently over his skin, their mouth gentle on his neck, on the flushed plains of his chest. “It’s ok.”

He makes himself say it, even if he can’t open his eyes. “Can’t. I have to go. It's a rule, I can't--”

“You don’t.” Tony’s voice. “You’re not on the clock, remember?”

Bucky’s lips at his ear, a warm, satisfied sigh. “Stay, honey. Let us hold on to you a little longer.”

The panic slips away, the habits of the last two years easing through his fingers like sand. Thank god he didn’t meet these men before tonight, he thinks. They’d have made it hard not to break Loki’s rules, one after the other: _No sleeping over unless they’ve paid for it. Stick to the clock. Never confuse what people say when they’re paying you with what they really think._

“Ok,” Steve mumbles, surrendering to their hands, to the soft sink of the sheets. “Ok. Just a little longer. I’ll stay.”


	6. Chapter 6

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

The sun is impatient behind the drawn curtains; the bed is an absolute wreck. His clothes gathered somehow on a hanger that’s caught on the back of the bathroom door.

He fumbles for the clock. 5:30. It’s 5:30 in the morning on a Sunday and he’s absolutely alone in a drop-dead hotel suite.

What the hell.

He sits up, a little foggy, and his body protests, a hundred soft aches that make it hard to climb out of bed, to leave his warm, tumbled cocoon. But the bar’s closed and he’s the last one here and it’s more than damn time he go home.

He lingers in the shower first, though, spends a good half hour drowning that echo of sad in his gut under the sing of the spray. He can’t, quite. Does his best not to think too hard, not to stare at the tile and imagine his hands pressed there, Bucky’s body snugged up against the curve of his back. Tony on his knees, nuzzling, his face shining when he peered up and gave Steve a wide, stretched-out grin.

 _Right here_ , he can hear Bucky say, a growl pitched just over the water. _This is exactly where you want to be, isn’t it?_

His breath comes out in a snap and he reaches for the tap, smothers that voice in cold water.

 _Too soon_ , he thinks as he dries off in a rush. _Don’t go there. Don’t do that to yourself. At least wait until you get home to wallow._

He pulls on his clothes and pushes out of the bedroom into the sitting room. The wall of windows is filled with sky, of the buildings that reach up to meet it, the blues and pink rushes of dawn. It makes the whole room look different, like something from a play; the promising shadows of Act I swept away by the unforgiving light of the day. Tony’s voice in his head, that first joyful, appraising glance:

_You are absolutely stunning. I’m so glad that you’re here._

He does not get maudlin about clients, he doesn’t--he hasn’t, not in all these months on the job. Even his regulars, the ones he kind of got to know, the ones that he went to bed with more than once--he couldn’t remember ever feeling like this once their sessions were over, like there was something about them he’d really miss.

And he didn’t know Tony and Bucky, period: what they did or where they lived or how they’d met. Who knew if “Tony” and “Bucky” were even their actual names? Just because he’d been an idiot and spilled out his own didn’t mean they’d done the same.

He turns away from the window, from his meandering head, from the clench of his dumb, foolish heart. _Goddamnit_. _Enough_.

Downstairs, he turns up towards the subway and pulls out his phone. It’s an automatic thing, calling Loki, something he’s done--he’s been obligated to do--at the conclusion of every gig. Never mind that he’s, oh, a good six-plus hours overdue. What’s Loki gonna do? Fire him? Maybe he won’t even pick up.

Of course he does.

“Steven,” Loki says in a sleepy, indolent purr. “Where the fuck have you been, my darling?”

Steve sighs. “Sleeping. Sorry. Some things happened, uh, when I got off the clock.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s--it was fine.” He can’t keep out the defensive. “I was on my own time.”

“Indeed you were,” Loki says. His voice is almost kind. “How was it?”

“It was fine. Good. It was good. I think you’ll hear from them again.”

“Well, that’s lucky for me, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ll find somebody they like.”

A chuckle. “Somebody who’s not you, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

There’s a pause, a silence that Steve can’t quite read, and then: “I did want you to enjoy yourself,” Loki says. “Go out with a bang, if you will. You did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, scurrying between corners with the light. “Next time I see you, I’m buying.”

Loki sighs, a shade overdramatic. “I will miss you terribly. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Hmmm. Well. Text me on Monday and tell me how it goes, won’t you? I want to hear all about it, the first day in your new life as a corporate stooge."

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “Good night, Loki.”

There’s an elaborate yawn on the other end of the line, the kind of stretch that Steve can actually hear. “It’s morning, you terrible creature. Some of us aren’t meant to be up at this hour.”

“Loki?”

“Hmmm?”

He pauses on the top step, the rumble of the trains sneaking up from underground. “Thank you. Really. Last night was--I don’t know.” He stares down at the pavement. “It was something special, that’s all.”

“Was it?” Loki sounds distinctly amused. “Well, darling. That’s lovely to hear.”

They say their goodbyes and Steve heads into the tunnel, away from the weird magic of Midtown. The first steps, he tells himself, towards his new life.

 

*****  


The next morning, he’s at Aventech’s front doors right at eight, a half hour early for orientation, wearing his only other suit, a navy one with a new tie. He’s nervous as hell. He’s fucking elated.

 _This is it_ , he thinks, looking around the wide conference table, at the half a dozen other newbies with their stick-on name tags and coffee. _This really is it. And I’m ready for it_.

There’s another new technical writer in the group, a guy with squinty eyes and sharp reflexes who makes a beeline for him at the first break.

“Clint Barton,” he says, staccato. “And you’re Steve, I see.”

They shake hands. “Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Clint says, even though he’s got like maybe a decade on Steve, tops. “So. What do you think of this gig?”

“I--I don’t know. Haven’t started yet.”

“No shit. But I mean the company, the set up. I’m kinda annoyed by the dental benefit. Way too much for the whole family plan.”

“Is it?”

“And they told me we’d get a tour.” Clint glares back at their trainer, a Human Resources associate named Wanda. “During my interview, they said. Of the whole building. Didn’t they tell you that? The executive floor, the gym, and all that.”

So, Steve thinks, trying to keep his face neutral, this is one enormous thing he hasn’t missed about working in the real world: co-workers. “Uh,” he says, “I guess. I wasn’t--I’m kind of more interested in seeing where we’re gonna be working.”

Clint laughs. “Bullshit, kid. The executive set-up here is sweet. Nothing but the best for Tony Stark, you know? And today’s the only day most of us will ever getting a fucking glimpse.”

“Who’s Tony Stark?”

“Who’s Tony Stark?” Clint stares at him, incredulous. “Steve, he’s the president of the company. One of the richest guys in the country. Come on. You must have heard of him!”

“I mean,” Steve says sheepishly, his cheeks racing to match with his tie. “I don’t watch the news much. And I only got out of school a couple of--”

“Stop,” Clint says. “Fucking stop. You’re making me fear for the future of this country. I hate that. Jesus christ, kid, you don’t watch the _news_?”

“Not all the time, um--” Steve tries a quick swerve. “How many kids do you have?”

That stops the indignation train in its tracks. “How many?” Clint grins. “More than one and not enough, that’s what I tell my wife.”

“Got any pictures?”

“Hell yes.” Clint goes for his phone, his fingers already flying. “Want to see?”

Before lunch, then, he signs his I-9 and learns the names of all of Clint’s kids and drinks three cups of free coffee. It’s extremely weird. It’s kind of great.

“All right,” Wanda says at 11:30 to a room that’s increasingly restless, “one more thing before we eat, ok?” She gives them a big smile. “How would you guys like the grand tour?”

“Fuck me,” Clint says under his breath. “At last!”

For Steve, the whole building’s a bit of a blur. It’s all steel and glass, sleekly modern. Even the cubicles look kind of cool. There’s an energy on each floor that he remembers from his interview, a buzzing sense that good work’s being done, that people are happy to be here.

 _Drones_ , he hears Loki say in his head. _Worker bees content to do the same thing day in and day out._

Which may be true, he thinks as Wanda herds them back into one of the elevators, but I kinda was, too. To his clients, he was the exception, a bit of novelty and excitement to disrupt the routine. But for him, sex _was_ the routine; there was nothing especially novel in it. So this--8:30 to 5 and no work on weekends, paid holidays and a desk all his own--that sounded pretty fucking thrilling. For now, at least. Who knew where he’d be in a year, what he’d want.  He takes a breath and grins up at the numbers ticking up beside the door. And that uncertainty, that sense of possibility, for him, is just fucking fine.

“All right,” Wanda says, “this is our last stop, folks: the 35th floor. Home to our executive team and--most days--to Mr. Stark himself.” The car stops and she turns, gives them a quick wink. “And you never know--he might have made it a point to be here this morning just so he could say hello to each of you.”

“Don’t worry,” Clint quips as they step out, “I’ll introduce you. Since you won’t recognize him at all.”

“Very funny.”

The exterior walls of the floor are all glass, from floor to ceiling, and the executive offices are transparent, too, shielded only by a slight smokiness that makes it hard to see exactly what’s going on inside. There are wooden floors everywhere and gleaming chairs and though it’s a lot quieter than the other workspaces they’ve seen, it’s got that same energy, that same warm, underlying hum.

“Ok,” Clint says in his ear, whispering under Wanda’s narration, “legit, you think there’s any chance they need tech writers up here?”

“Yeah, no,” Steve says. “I seriously doubt it.”

Clint sighs. “Well, hell. Maybe worth asking. This place is fucking gorgeous." He gives Steve an elbow. "What did I tell you? Only the best, right?”

They come to a halt outside the corner office, jammed at the back of the group. Notably, the office is the only one they’ve seen with opaque walls, though they’re made from what looks like the same smokey glass.

Wanda beams at them and gestures at the nameplate. “This is Mr. Stark’s office,” she says. “Shall we see if he’s in?”

It’s a big show, Steve can see that, something to make new employees feel special; no doubt she does this same _is he or isn’t he_ routine every week. But still, it works, makes him feel kind of good. After all, if this Stark is as rich as Clint says, then he doesn’t have to be here on a Monday morning. He’s choosing to. It’s important to him, apparently, to greet his new people face to face.

Steve likes that.

Wanda knocks and after a minute, the door opens. A guy in shirtsleeves and dark trousers steps out, wearing a ready-made smile.

A guy with hair to his shoulders.

A guy with bottle blue eyes.

A guy whose button-up hints at broad shoulders, at long lines of muscle underneath.

A guy who’s named--

“Everyone,” Wanda says with a flourish, “this is Mr. Stark’s executive assistant, James Barnes.”

“Eh,” Barnes says, that smile ticking up brighter, “call me Bucky.”  
  
Steve straight up gasps. His knees go full Jello. _Oh hell_ , he thinks, might hiss a little too loudly. _Oh hell and fucking_ no.


	7. Chapter 7

Ok, yes, that was much too loud because Clint says “Hey man, you ok?” and the woman in front of them turns around to frown and Bucky’s head, oh, that diamond-sharp glance, it swivels and zooms in and the look on his face--his smooth and all professional face--is priceless. For a half second, he looks just like Steve feels: _what the fuck_?

But then the moment’s gone and there’s a wide smirk there instead, the one Steve last saw looming over him in bed, and oh, god. Oh god.

“We’ve got a lively group this morning, I see,” Bucky says without missing a beat. “That’s great. Why don’t you all come on in?”

“Seriously,” Clint says, a quick hand on Steve’s elbow as they move towards the door. “You cool? You were looking a little wobbly there.”

“”M fine,” Steve says, because he is definitely not. “Just, um. I guess my blood sugar’s low.”

That, and his cheeks are on fire. It feels like his whole body’s on red alert. And that’s before they step through the doorway into Mr. Stark’s--Tony’s--office suite. It’s bright and open, with a collection of couches and chairs near the entrance, a sleek mahogany-colored desk at the rear, and beyond that, a handful of doors that are pointedly closed.

“Just a sec,” Bucky says, already moving towards the back. “Let me grab him. Have a seat if you like.”

He slips behind the desk--his, Steve figures--and knocks twice on one of the door. Opens it a crack and stick his head in.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Clint says. “I mean, that low blood sugar shit is no joke. My wife, she’s as strong as a fucking horse, but if she doesn’t eat breakfast, she’ll go down head first faster than you can say--”

“Good morning!” somebody says, big and chipper, a voice Steve now would know anywhere. “Aren’t you all a great-looking crew? Wanda, HR’s outdone yourselves this week. You really have.”

And then Tony is standing right there among them, smiling, holding out his hand and introducing himself to everybody in turn. “Hi,” he says to each of them, “welcome to Aventech. I’m Tony Stark.”

Steve wants to run. He wants to sink through the floor, first the oriental carpets and then the trendy bamboo and then through the concrete and steel, if he has to. Two years, he was an escort, two years in a big goddamn city, and never once, never _once_ , had he ever run into a client outside the boundaries of work. Never. And yet somehow, on his first day out of the business, he’s face to face with not one client, but two, and the worst part is that part of him doesn’t want to run away; part of him’s desperate to run towards. To throw his arms around Bucky’s neck and ask why, why the fuck did you ask me to stay and then up and leave me without so much as a thank you or a goodbye.

Tony approaches them, hand extended to Clint. “And you are?”

“Clint, sir. Ah, Clint Barton. I’ll be in document development."

“Oh, you’re a writer, then?”

Clint gives a nervous bark of a laugh. “That’s what they tell me, yeah. And so’s my friend here. Well, the guy standing beside me. He seems solid. We’ve only just met.”

Tony turns towards Steve. “A writer?” he says, his voice warmer than before. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Steve,” Clint says, “this is Tony Stark. The president and CEO. You know, the guy you’d never heard of until three hours ago?”

Steve sticks out his hand. It’s easier than talking. Still, he has to try. “Um. Hi.”

“Steve.” Tony rolls the sound around in his mouth, his eyes dancing. “Nice to meet you, Steve--what?”

“Rogers.” Tony’s hand is warm, his grip--oh, fuck, his grip; the way his fist had felt around Steve’s straining cock--firm and sure. “Steve Rogers.”

Tony squeezes, pressing their palms together tight, and then lets go of his fingers. Keeps a firm hold of his gaze. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his lips twitching. “Both of you. Make sure you have a good first day.”

“Holy shit,” Clint says the second Tony’s out of earshot. “I think he liked me. Did you see the way he was grinning? I think he really liked my line about the whole you not knowing him thing. That was pretty great, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice faded because there are two blue eyes on him again and on Bucky’s face is a look that would scorch solid glass, a look that sends blood where it really, really shouldn’t, that kicks up a storm in his heart he can’t deal with, not here, not now. “I think he did.”

 

*****

 

The afternoon is a blur.

There’s lunch and more paperwork and a stern lecture about harassment in the workplace; some team-building stuff, some sleek corporate videos, and then they’re all fetched by their supervisors and escorted with some fanfare to their new desks.

“So tomorrow,” their new boss Natasha says, leaning back on some truly great heels, “come in between 8:30 and 9, get yourselves settled, and then when you’re ready, come find me and we’ll get you going, all right?”

“Oh my god,” Clint mutters as she sweeps away, leaves them in a cloud of perfume. “I think I’m in love.”

Steve snorts and turns back to his desk, spreads his hands over the cool emptiness of it. He has a feeling Natasha won’t stay this way for long. “She would eat you for breakfast. And you’re a married man.”

Clint plants his ass on his desk and crosses his arms, his face dreamy. “Married? Yes. Dead? Hell and fucking no.”

It’s after five now and the place is starting to empty. People are flipping off computers and reaching for their bags, gathering in chatty clusters around the elevators and the door to the stairs, looking forward to the evening ahead. They’re making plans to meet at bars or to grab coffee in the morning, giving each other some back and forth good-natured shit and--

“Hey, kid,” Clint says. He’s halfway into his jacket. “Don’t tell me you’re staying late on the first day.”

“What? No.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “No, of course not.”

“Good, because I’d hate to think you’re trying to show me up already.” Clint grins, does this weird little dance. “Gotta look good before the boss, don’t I?”

“Steve?”

They both start, turn around to see Natasha standing there, sleek.

“Ma’am!” Clint squeaks. She ignores him.

“Steve, Mr. Stark’s office called. He’d like to speak with you for a moment. Do you have time, or are you on the way out?"

Oh shit, Steve thinks, prays it doesn’t show on his face. “Um, no. Now’s fine. Now’s great. Is there, ah--is there something wrong?”

Natasha shrugs. “I don’t think so. Just one of Tony’s whims. He probably wants to pick your brain about orientation or some shit. He gets like that sometimes, weirdly micro-managery about random stuff. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“No,” Steve says. He remembers how to stand up, just barely. “Right. I, uh. I won’t.”

He grabs his bag and says good night to a quivering Clint and heads for the elevator. He can’t actually breathe.

Everyone else is going down and he’s going up and it takes a few minutes for a car to arrive, for him to climb in and have a good 30 seconds to give in to panic.

What the hell. What the hell. Is he gonna get fired? Are they going to let him go? How in the actual fuck did this happen?

He wonders if Loki will take him back. 

What the hell. What the _hell_.

Then the car stops and the doors beep and he’s standing on that big, open floor, watching his feet move and not feeling a thing. He’s breathing and he’s moving and he’s sliding past panic, past panic and into the thick of something like anger. What’s he done to deserve this shit? Nothing, he thinks, nothing but give these two the night of their lives. A whole night of great sex and part of it for free and what thanks did he get, besides waking up to an empty bed? A pink slip after only a day?

It’s bullshit, is what it is, complete and utter, and damn if he’s just going to walk in there like a lamb to the slaughter and take whatever corporate bullshit they try to dish out.

No he won’t, he tells himself as he makes the last turn, as Tony’s nameplate comes into view. _President and CEO,_  huh? Big fucking deal. They’re not going to fire him. Hell no. He’ll quit.

He’s so fired up he doesn’t knock on the door, just grabs the knob and shoulders on in. “Hey, Mr. Stark,” he barks, “I’m here.”

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his desk when Steve barges in. His arms are crossed, bare up to the elbow, the neat starched white of his shirt folded back. His expression is lazy and there’s a half empty rocks glass in his hand. “No need to shout,” he says, pointing. “Tony’s right there on the couch.”

Steve swivels. Tony waves.

“Hi,” Tony says. “We need to talk.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve clenches his teeth. “Yeah, we do.”

“Great. So sit. You want a drink?”

He’s moving before Steve’s made it into the chair, reaching out across the chrome coffee table for a decanter and a fresh glass.

“Do I…?” It’s harder to hold on to his anger with Tony looking at him like that, calm and collected, like everything’s normal and this isn’t weird and it only adds to the surreality of the moment, the whole strange twist of today, but he swallows because this is important, this is his professional life; this shit as it stands is not ok. “No,” he says, his voice all spike. “I don’t.”

Tony looks surprised. The stopper’s already in hand. “Oh. Ok.”

“Are you gonna fire me?” The words get ahead of good sense.

“Fire you?”

Steve drops his bag and folds his hands into fists, feels his face run towards crimson. “Are. You Going. To Fire Me. It’s a simple enough question.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Bucky’s suddenly there at the edge of the rug, staring. The smirk’s gone. So is his glass.

“Because, you, ah--I don’t know, because”--are they seriously going to make him spell it out? Christ.--“Because of the other night.”

They goggle at him like his head’s fallen off. Tony is practically ashen.

“Steve,” he says. “You can’t really think that.”

“What am I supposed to think? You can’t tell me you call all of your newbies up here on day one. That dog and pony show this morning was enough, wasn’t it?”

“We wanted to see you again,” Bucky says.

Steve glares at him. “You saw me this morning.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “but that was out of nowhere. A complete if not undeniably glorious surprise. This is--”

“What?” There’s brittle in his voice now, all the _oh shit_ of the day finally coming to bear. “What is this, Mr. Stark? I’d appreciate a goddamn explanation.”

There’s a pause, a tense look between the two of them, a novel in a nod and a glance.

“It’s like this,” Bucky says. “We were on pins and needles waiting to see if we’d ever hear from you again. Only a day in and we already missed you. And then lo and behold, this morning, you come strolling right in our front door.” His mouth curves, a backflip of a twist. “We, ah. Kind of took it as a gift from the gods.”

Tony shifts. His expression is pinched up, a little sad. “But you don’t, huh? That’s what I’m getting.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Which bit?” Bucky shoots back. “The part where we’re fucking thrilled to see you?”

“No, the part where you--” Steve shakes his head, gets a real clear image of that big, cold bed. “Where you thought I’d reach out to you. How the hell would I do that? I mean, I didn’t know who you were. How did you think that I’d find you?”

Tony blinks. “My cell number was on the note.”

“What note?”

“The note that we left for you,” Bucky says.

“I didn’t see any note.”

“It was in your jacket pocket,” Tony says. His voice is creeping towards strangled. “The inside breast pocket.”

Steve’s head is spinning, “The inside--? What are you talking about?"

“Oh shit. You didn’t find it, did you?”

“No. I mean, it didn’t occur to me to even look for one, I just thought--”

“You thought,” Bucky says softly, “that we just up and left you alone. That after all that, in the end, we treated you like a whore. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?”

He can barely get the word out. It sinks like a stone from his mouth. “Yes.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony says, pained. “No. God, no, Steve.”

Suddenly Bucky is at his side, kneeling, a hand stretched up to Steve’s face. “We like you,” he says. “Fuck, honey. We like you a lot.”

It’s fine until Bucky touches him, fine in the sense of messed up and confusing, of jarring and weird as all get out. It’s fine and he can deal with it, he can, until Bucky’s knuckles sweep down his cheek.

“Bucky--”

“Is this ok?” He traces the line of Steve’s jaw, the bow drawn up of it, tense. “If it’s not, tell me.”

Steve swallows. “I thought I misunderstood everything. I thought I was--god, I don’t know. I thought I was just being a sap.”

“Is this ok? If it’s not, you should--”

Steve turns his face, turns into the touch. Bites his lip at how good it feels, how simple everything seems with Bucky’s hand kissing his skin. “It’s ok.”

Bucky makes a soft, hot sound and opens his hand. Presses his palm into the heat. “Yeah?”

“So you’re not going to fire me?”

“Not unless you want me to.” Tony’s voice in front of him now, the low scratch of the coffee table pushed back. “You’re not going to quit? Please say no. Nat will kill me. She’s super happy to have you onboard.”

“Really?”

Tony chuckles. “Really. I know you haven’t gotten to know her yet, but let me tell you: that woman is picky. If you’re here, it’s because she really wants you. You answer to her, Steve, not to me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Good luck with that. This one here’s a hell of a lot easier to please.”

They’re both touching him now, Tony’s hand on his knee, Bucky’s now petting at the line of his neck, and it’s hard to take a deep breath, but he does.

“So you want me to stay.”

Bucky nuzzles his ear. “Yes.”

“Oh, hell yes,” Tony hums. “As long as you want.”

He’s half hard already, half hard and half stupid in love and it’s ridiculous, he thinks with a grin, feeling Bucky’s lips turn up against his neck, feeling Tony’s nails catch his knees as Tony sinks down to his. The whole thing is insane, a bizarre fucking coincidence. No. It’s a gift.

“We owe you an apology,” Tony says. “God, baby, we didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“It was Tony’s fault,” Bucky murmurs. “He had a late call with Tokyo that he wouldn’t let me reschedule.”

“Mmmm, I didn’t know you’d be so perfect.” Tony leans forward, his hands snaking up Steve’s thighs.“That you’d be so hard to let go of. I thought we’d have been home in plenty of time, ages before.”

“Still,” Bucky says, “I should’ve taped that note to the mirror. To the fucking front door. To your forehead. Fuck, I can't believe I didn't think about--"

“It’s ok,” Steve breathes. “Really, it was.”

Tony kisses him gently. “It wasn’t,” he says. “It wasn’t at all. Was it, Buck?”

“No.” Bucky tips in and takes one for himself. Another. One more. Again. “I'm sorry."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day-to-day readers will notice that I have shifted the chapter break back a bit; the first few lines of this chapter were previously part of chapter 8. The reason for that shift will I hope become apparent.

Tony opens his trousers and Bucky opens his shirt and they apologize to him right there, at the front of the suite, where anybody who walked in could see. 

“Oh,” Bucky says, his voice all sweet, needy heat. “Look at these pretty little nipples. Just waiting to be played with, aren’t they? I bet you’d like that.”

Steve clutches Bucky’s hair, knocks the smooth out of it, the slick. “God, yes.”

“And I,” Tony says, his words hot on Steve’s dick, “I don’t even have to ask about this, do I? I know how much you like it.”

He whines and they laugh, laugh and push him into the chair, deeper. “Need a condom,” he gets out as Bucky’s tongue find his nipple, as Tony’s fingers pet at his balls. “Don’t--don’t suck me without one.”

“In my desk, Tone,” Bucky hums. He closes his teeth. “Top drawer on the right.”

He jerks Steve off while Tony’s gone, jerks him in time with his tongue, the soft suck of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses. “I’m sorry we made you feel so bad, honey.”

Steve’s head falls back and his hips lift and he groans, a sound that rings off the glass walls, that makes his dick stiffen in Bucky’s fist. “You didn’t mean to.” 

“No.” Bucky bites down again, sucks just that much harder. “But that’s not an excuse. Not by a longshot.”

When Steve opens his eyes, when he forces them to lift, Tony’s back with foil in hand and a grin that Steve can’t help but match.

“Which means,” Tony says, tearing, “that we gotta work twice as hard to make our amends, don’t we baby?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, Steve sighs, both in the same breath. “Oh, yes.”

They work him so well together, play him like he’s made of strings and they’re bows. 

“Look,” Bucky murmurs, skating his fingers over Steve’s stomach, over muscles pulled high and tight. “He’s got all of you, doesn’t he? Tony’s swallowed all of your big, gorgeous dick. Doesn’t that make a picture.”

Tony groans and digs his nails into Steve’s thighs, the stretch of them, and looks up, his eyes glittering and dark. 

Bucky tsks. “And you with your pants around your ankles, honey. Bared for us like that.” He nips at Steve’s ear, slides his hand down to meet the edge of the condom, the heat of Tony’s mouth. “I like it, how eager you are.”

“Feels good,” Steve gets out. “Feels so fucking good. Ah, Tony, god! Please don’t stop.”

“Hold his head.” Bucky’s voice is caramel, coffee. “Get a hold of his hair. Yeah, like that. Don’t give him a chance to go anywhere. Keep him right there on your dick.”

They both moan this time; Steve can feel the same sound in his throat that’s echoing in his hips and around his cock and he lifts his body, arches, chasing mindless for more. 

Bucky chuckles and teases the base of his dick, rubs his fingers through the damp blond tangle. “Good boy. That’s right. Make him take it. He loves that, don’t you, baby?”

Tony claws at Steve’s skin and whimpers and Steve's roll shut, defensive; too much stimulus, too much feeling, too much it’s too much it’s too much. He’s wound up far too tight, arousal soaked in relief, relief tinged with something else, something that feels too much like happily ever after to be real, and yet and yet Bucky’s mouth is on his nipples again, lazy licks that turn up into ardent sucks and Tony is trembling, shaking like a kite at the end of its line and what Steve feels is bigger than him, bigger than he can swallow, and when he can feel Bucky’s fingers pushing into Tony’s mouth, making him take more hold more than even the thick of Steve’s dick, that’s too much, too much. Just enough.

He screams but there’s no sound, nothing but the rough gasp of his breath, and he can feel himself pulsing inside the condom, feel the spunk pooling around his head, feel Tony swallowing hard, like he can taste what Steve’s body is trying to give.

“Fuck,” Bucky says, a warm breeze against Steve’s chest, his fingers rubbing over Tony’s tongue, over the line of Steve’s shaft. “Oh, jesus, you two. _Fuck_.” And then he’s kissing Steve, hard and hungry and fast.

“One day,” he says after a minute, their foreheads tucked together, his wet hand pressed to Steve’s cheek. “One day I’m gonna watch you do that without a condom and you’re gonna fill him up, aren’t you? You’re gonna give him so much it’ll drip out of his mouth and over his chin and I’m gonna make you clean it up.”

Tony makes a sound like he’s dying and takes his mouth away, draws the last tiny shocks out with his fist instead, pants: “Christ, Buck.”

“Yes,” Steve says, the word weatherbeaten, shaking fingers tumbling over Tony’s shoulder, down his arm. “Yeah. I want that.”

“Greedy,” Buck breathes. “You lovely, greedy thing.”

He lays there, half-sprawled, half-sitting, more than half-naked, and watches Bucky suck Tony off, Bucky still on his knees and Tony only half-standing, his body bowed, held up as much by Bucky’s hands on his hips as by his own feet.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony groans. “Oh, Bucky, god yes. God. Fuck, baby, just like that.”

When he comes, Bucky pulls back and lets Tony’s spunk paint his face, fall in great, furious jerks over his cheek and his chin until Tony is sliding his fingers through the mess and making soft, needy sounds.

"I love you," Tony murmurs, his voice like splintered glass.

Bucky turns his head and kisses Tony's palm. "Funny. I love you, too."

Steve’s own cock twitches, his heart does, and he sighs, louder than he'd meant to because they both turn to look at him, their gazes so intent they makes his cheeks burn.

“What?” he says, feeling a twinge of defensive. “That was hot.”

Tony sways and Tony mumbles and Steve reaches for him, sits up and lets Tony fall into his lap.

“Yeah?” Tony murmurs. His suit's one big wrinkle, his body beneath it singing with heat. “You liked that?”

Steve kisses him, pushes his tongue past the taste of latex until he finds Tony again. “Yes,” he says soft, as Tony’s arms wind around his neck. “Very much. You're so pretty when you come, Tony."

“Oh, shit.” It’s a whisper, but one that trembles like thunder. “You’re fucking gorgeous together. Jesus fuck, look at you.”

They turn their heads, synchronicity, and Bucky’s standing in front of them, his body facing the chair; his zipper's down and his flushed, weeping dick's in his hand. “I could look at you two for my whole life and never get tired of it.”

Steve tucks his arm around Tony’s waist, settles them more comfortably together, gets Tony to lean back with a hum and a sigh. “Really?” he says then, meeting Bucky square in the eye, doing his damnedest to ignore the happy flutter in his gut, the forest of butterflies. “Never?”

Bucky edges closer, his fist flying now, and as delicious as he looks, as desperate, Steve wishes he were naked, wishes there were more exposed than his gorgeous dick; wishes he could see the flush he knows overtakes Bucky’s body when he’s like this, so goddamn close.

“Never,” Bucky says. He’s so near now Steve can smell him, the heat of his cock, the bitter hint of his precum. “Goddamn. How could I?”

Tony shivers and Steve holds him tighter, their faces pressed together cheek to cheek. “Yeah?” Steve says, feeling powerful again, unspeakably sexy. He’s in control now. They’re letting him be.

He drops his voice. “Are you gonna come on us, Bucky? All over my skin, all over Tony’s nice suit?”

Bucky bares his teeth and he’s wet, he’s leaking. He’s a firework about to light up. “I should, shouldn’t I? Let both of you have it at once.”

A faded moan from Tony, tattered; a sharp quick kick of Steve’s breath.

“Look at you,” Steve says. “We don’t even have to touch you and you’re ready to give it up."

"Mmmm," Bucky says, thick, his hand moving faster. "Fuck. Shut up." 

"Oh, yeah, you’re about to lose it." Steve's voice is a dark happy curl, a certainty. "You're gonna get your come everywhere, aren't you, Buck?”

Tony rumbles, his head falling back. “You get it on this chair, though, and I'll fucking fire you, babe.”

Bucky chokes and Bucky laughs and Bucky comes, loses it hard and loud and points his cock at their bodies, groans as he watches himself splatter all over Tony’s coat and trousers and Steve’s stomach, the newly found bob of Steve’s cock, and god, it's fucking glorious. The air smells like sex and Bucky’s spunk is all over him and Tony’s mouthing at his neck and rubbing Bucky’s come into his skin.

“You’re ours now," Tony whispers against his throat. "Just so you know. That's how it is: you’re ours and we’re yours, if that’s something you want.”

What that means, what that looks like, Steve has no earthly idea. But for some reason, in that long, lovely moment, that not knowing is just fucking fine.

“Yes,” he says to Tony, repeats into the sated shadow of Bucky’s face. “I think it is.”


	10. Epilogue

“You know,” Steve says the next day, “you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

He's at lunch, sitting out in the park two blocks from the office. There’s a snort on the other end of the line.

“Did you ring me up just to be rude, darling? I didn’t hear from you yesterday. Don’t think that I didn’t notice. Was your first day so draining you could rally yourself to send me a text?”

Steve rubs a hand over his face and leans back in the grass. “My last clients, the couple. You knew exactly who they were, didn’t you?”

“Well," Loki says, "your Mr. Stark was ever so kind enough to use his real name. And, more importantly, his real black AmEx.”

“Yeah, but how did you know he owned Aventech?”

Loki laughs. “How could you not? Have you not read a newspaper in the past five years? Or perhaps you're familiar with this new invention? It's called the internet.”

“Ah, ah,” Steve says, jabbing his hand at the summer sky, “nice try. Let’s get back to the part where you set me up.”

“I think ‘set up’ is a strong word. More like, ‘attempted to complicate your attempt to go straight.’ So to speak.”

“Loki--!”

“Steven,” Loki says with a worldly sigh, “it was childish, I admit that. A crude attempt to express my disappointment in your choice. And to prove to you that the line between this world and that one is not as clearly defined as you think.”

“You wanted me to get fired,” Steve says. It isn’t a question. “Or at least have me be so humiliated or something that I gave up this gig and came back to you.”

There’s a brief silence. “It didn’t by any chance work, I suppose?”

Steve grins in spite of himself, touches the soft bruises Tony’d left on his neck, remembers the sting of Bucky’s teeth on his chest. “No,” he says. “Funnily enough, no, it didn’t.”

“Damn.”

“But the thing is, I actually called to say thanks.”

“Really? For what?”

“That last job. One of the best nights of my life.” Which is true. Not the whole truth, but. Close enough.

“Ah,” Loki chuckles. “So they enjoyed having a third, did they?”

“They did.”

“Ah! Then I should expect to hear from them again, should I?" 

Steve laughs, so long and loud he startles the pigeons. “You know what, Lo? You won’t.”

*****

  
“What’re you so happy about?” Clint says when he’s back at his desk, empty lunch bag in hand. “You got grass stains on your shirt, by the way. Smooth.”

“I talked to my friend. We sorted things out. Or I sorted; he’ll have to deal.”

Clint chomps down on some celery, squinting. “Damn, Rogers.”

“What?” He fishes around for his phone, dumps it in the top drawer.

“You’ve got some stones on you, don’t you? Yesterday, you go face-to-face with Tony-fucking-Stark and come out unscathed and today, you put some douche in his place.”

“I don’t think that I’d call him that. And I told you, the thing with Stark was all show, just some random _how was your first day with my company?_ stuff.” It comes out so smooth, that lie; gets easier with the repeating. “They pulled my name out of some hat, that’s all.”

“Whatever,” Clint says, cutting the air with a carrot stick. “Semantics. Point is, you don’t take any shit, man. I like that.”

Steve looks up from his keyboard, his fingers set at J and F, his mouth lifting. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clint pats his shoulder. Leave a little ranch dressing behind. “I think you and me are gonna make a good team.”

“I think you and me are gonna make a good team,” Bucky says hours later, half a day and a few skyscrapers away. “I think that between us we can drive Tony here up and out of his mind.”

“Huh. You think?” Steve draws his fingers down Tony’s chest. “I don’t know. He looks pretty tough. A hard nut to crack.”

“Fuck both of you,” Tony breathes. Goosebumps ripple down his arms. His fists are gripping the sheets and his cock’s already half hard just from this, just from being stripped down and laid out before them. “Stop teasing, you bastards, and touch me already."

“Oh,” Bucky says, dangerous, in that voice like caramel that makes Steve’s knees go weak. “You know what? I’ve got a better idea.” He reaches for Steve, tugs him away from the bed and curls his hands around Steve’s hips. Pulls them tight together and flush. “Let’s you and me touch each other and see how long the old man can last before he’s begging.”

A whine from the bed, something that sounds like a snarl. “Oh, _god_.”

Steve rubs his mouth against Bucky’s. “I give him ten minutes, tops.”

“Ten?” Bucky murmurs, his fingers tugging at Steve’s zipper, his lips turning up in a slow, evil grin. “Mmm, honey, if we do this right, he won’t last more than five.”

*****

  
He finds the note as he’s gathering shit for the dry cleaners: his only two suits, his shirts, his three decent pairs of pants. It’s folded into fours and tucked in the breast pocket, shoved way in down and deep. The paper’s cream colored and has the hotel’s monogram at the top. It’s written in two colors of ink.

In blue:

_Thank you_ , it says.  _Wholly inadequate words, but the only ones I can come up with right now at fucking zero dark thirty AM. You are beautiful, Steve, and giving and so fucking delicious that I sincerely hope you will consider spending time with us again. If not, though, please know that you’ve given us one of the most perfect nights of our lives._

In black, block letters:

_You are perfect. When I was inside you, when I was watching you and Tony fuck, I thought--I think--we’re made for you. I don’t know you and you don’t know us but enough weird shit has happened in my life that I don’t question it anymore; I just listen._

_You should call us, kid. I’m still in the same room with you, we haven’t even left yet, and I’m already dying to kiss you._

Then a string of numbers in blue, and beside it, in black:

_This is T’s private cell. On 24/7, whether he likes it or not.  
_ _If you want to, please call._

He sits on the edge of his beat-up twin bed and stares at the thing, wonders: what would he have done if he’d found this that first morning, after” If he’d read it instead of stumbling around alone and upset for that whole long awful day, would he have called them? Would he have had the guts?

And if he’d done all those things, what would his first day at Aventech have been like? Would the surprise of seeing them--men he’d have sought out now, not just men that he’d randomly slept with--have been lessened? Or would it have had just another flavor of strange?

He folds the note back up neatly and tucks it on the nightstand, picks up his phone. He doesn’t have to look back at the note to know what number to dial.

“Hey,” Bucky says after the third ring.

“Hey. He’s making you hold it?”

Bucky snorts. “It’s Sunday. He’s talking to his mom. I make it a practice to be out of the room when that happens.”

“His mom doesn’t call him on his cell?"

“Yeah, no.” He can almost hear Bucky shaking his head. “It’s a long fucking story.”

“Oh, well. I, ah--I found your note.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Right where you said it would be.”

Bucky’s voice is warmer now. “Thank god. It may be mostly moot, but I think Tone would’ve cried if it’d gotten lost. That’s why he made me put in there instead of one of the regular pockets, like a regular human would.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He was afraid that it’d fall out or something. That you’d go to grab your keys or wallet or whatever and it would just, bam, hit the sidewalk.”

“Oh,” Steve says, dawning, “because it has his number on it. I get it.”

Bucky laughs. “What? No. Fuck that. Steve, he was worried that we’d never see you again if you didn’t have a way to get in touch.”

“He--?”

“And I was, too, truth be told. That’s why I went along with his paranoid plan, you know. Just in case.”

Steve’s face is red, but in the best way, and there’s a shiver in his chest that Tony and Bucky have put there, one that won’t quite go away. “Oh,” he manages. “Ok. That makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. But who the fuck cares? You found us anyway, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did.”

He can hear Bucky smiling, just picture the curve of his mouth. “Thank the gods.”

There’s a pause, a not unpleasant stretch of quiet between them.

“What are you doing right now?” Bucky asks at last.

“Um, like I said. Getting my stuff together for the dry cleaners. About to throw in some laundry.”

“Can it wait? I’d love to see you. Hated not seeing you last night.”

“Oh, how was the charity thing? Was it at the Met?”

“Boring,” Bucky grumbles. “Boring during and lonely after. We missed you.”

Steve grins. God, for all his talk about Tony’s neediness, in the right mood, Bucky is just as bad. “Well,” he says, aping casual, “we’ll see each other tomorrow. I mean, we can. There is the possibility.”

“We could see each other now,” Bucky rumbles, a shark snapping at bait. “Right now. Ten minutes and you could be here with me, on this sofa. Maybe even sitting in my lap.”

“Maybe?” Steve tsks. “That’s not much of an offer.”

“Spread over my lap. My hands on your hips. My mouth on those sweet nipples. Shit, the noises you make when I play with them, Steve. God, they make me crazy. You telling me that doesn’t sound like more fun than laundry?”

“It has to get done, Buck. I’ve got nothing clean to wear. And Natasha would kill me if I showed up in jeans.”

“Bring it with you. It’ll get done. I’ll--”

There’s a rustle on the other end of the line, a jostle, then:

“Steve?” Tony says. “God, what the hell are you doing over there by yourself? Get over here. I mean, if you want. Bucky’s going to make pancakes.”

“What?” Buck’s voice, muffled, indignant. “I am not!”

“Pancakes sound great.”

“They do, don’t they? Sound great.”

“As long as I can kiss you after,” Steve says. “You know, only after brunch is over. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of Bucky going to all that trouble to cook.”

Muffled again, a murmur, and then he’s on speaker:

“I’m sending the car,” Tony says.

“I’m not cooking a damn thing,” Bucky says. “Not until we’ve kissed the living shit out of you.”

"And I reserve the right to unzip your pants."

Steve laughs and gets off the bed, reaches for his laundry basket. “Ok, ok. I’m coming.”

_I don’t know you_ , he thinks on the way over, remembering Bucky’s lines from the note, _and you don’t know me but enough weird shit has happened in my life that I don’t question it anymore; I just listen._

It won’t always be this easy; he knows that.  it’s only been a week, a single set of seven days, and he knows that whatever happens, however long this lasts, they won’t always be in the honeymoon phase. There are fights ahead, disagreements, moments when he’s furious with one of them, both of them, when they’re pissed off at him right back; hell, times when they’re mad at each other and look to him for support. No, he thinks, his cheek pressed to dark glass, whatever this thing is growing between them, easy will never be the operative word.

But then he’s spent the past two years doing easy, the kinds of connections that aren’t built to last. Until one night, that last one, they did.

The car edges to the curb and stops in front of Tony’s building, the cool steel facade, the doorman now familiar, the doorman who makes eyes at his precarious basket but doesn’t say a word. Just nods and pulls open the door.

In the elevator, the private one that zooms straight to Tony’s floor, he closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. Another silent, smooth ride, a moment of reflection, but this time it’s not anger in his gut, or fear; it’s a storm of a different kind, the hint of something wonderful. What it is, what it might be, he doesn’t quite know.

But for now, as the car slows, he won’t question, he’ll just listen, and take whatever joy the universe has in store.

The doors open. Steve steps out. Grins at the two men there to greet him, the ones who reach for him, who knock his basket, the worries of the everyday, clear away.

"Where have you been all our lives?" they ask between kisses that begin at the door, that stretch down the hallway. Crest on their big, rumpled bed. "How'd we get so lucky to find you?"

"I don't know," he answers, jostled between them, his hands spread over their skin, "but I'm here now. That's all that matters. And if it's ok, I'd like to stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has at last found its ending. Cheers to everyone who read along as these three kept talking to me this week! I appreciate you and your kind, encouraging, and keysmash comments so much.
> 
> ...and I reserve the right to come back for a timestamp, as utterly self-indulgent as that seems.


End file.
